


Angel

by HolyCatsAndRabbits



Series: Dannye's Good Omens Human AUs [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Alternate Universe - Hospital, Alternate Universe - Human, Aziraphale is bi or pan, Aziraphale/Crowley First Kiss (Good Omens), Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), First Kiss, First Time, Flowers, Frances the cat, Hurt Crowley (Good Omens), Love at First Sight, M/M, Magic, Miracles, Oblivious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Oblivious Crowley (Good Omens), Pining, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Resolved Pining, Resolved Sexual Tension, Sexual Tension, Snow, Soft Aziraphale (Good Omens), Top Aziraphale (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2020-01-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:09:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22088422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HolyCatsAndRabbits/pseuds/HolyCatsAndRabbits
Summary: “Anthony?” someone asked, but he didn’t recognize the voice. That probably made it okay that he didn’t answer, right?“Not responsive,” the voice said.Crowley just stared up at the white ceiling with bright white lights, and feeling more and more like he wanted to get up and run away, except his body wouldn’t move—And then someone was there above him, looking down at him with the most beautiful smile Crowley had ever seen. In fact, Crowley realized, this person might have been the most beautiful man he had ever seen. He had blue eyes and soft white-blond curls and a rounded face that looked perfect holding a smile like that, like it was made for it, the full cheeks giving the smile more room to grow.“Hello, Anthony,” said the man. “Not feeling your best, I see? We’ll get you fixed up, my dear, don’t worry.”
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Dannye's Good Omens Human AUs [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2110836
Comments: 538
Kudos: 1342
Collections: Good Omens Holiday Swap 2019, Good Omens Human AUs





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [junkshopdisco](https://archiveofourown.org/users/junkshopdisco/gifts).
  * Translation into Español available: [Ángel [Traducción]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25666894) by [abloodyrainbow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/abloodyrainbow/pseuds/abloodyrainbow), [HolyCatsAndRabbits](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HolyCatsAndRabbits/pseuds/HolyCatsAndRabbits)



> Hello, Junkshopdisco! Here is my last-minute pinch-hit for you! Thanks for your patience. I hope you like it!
> 
> I used your prompt:  
> Flower/plant shop AU where Aziraphale is a customer who keeps stopping by and Crowley is oblivious why. 
> 
> PS--y'all, one of the prompts was Aziraphale and Crowley getting stuck in a snow globe--please somebody write this one!!
> 
> As always, artists welcome!
> 
> You guys, [GoodOmensFicRecommendations](https://goodomensficrecommendations.tumblr.com/) made a book cover for this fic! <3 Look for it below!
> 
> AND the wonderful Djapchan made a podfic of this fic! Follow the "other works inspired by this one" link to find it! <3

_Book cover by[GoodOmensFicRecommendations](https://goodomensficrecommendations.tumblr.com/) on tumblr_

Anthony J. Crowley was not having a good day. It was going to be, in fact, arguably the most important day of his life, but he didn’t know that then, not while he was climbing a ladder in Gabriel’s clothing shop trying to rescue a cat who’d gotten stuck in the ceiling.

The cat’s name was Frances. Crowley called her that because no one else had named her yet and he liked to greet her when she entered his garden and flower shop. She was a stray cat who roamed the row of businesses on Dormand Street, from the cafe on one end to Gabriel’s _High-End Heaven_ to Crowley’s place, _Eden_ , to the jewelry boutique next door called _Bee’s,_ and on down to the bakery on the other corner. Crowley put food out for Frances regularly, and sometimes she ate it, so of everyone on the street, she seemed to like Crowley best. Which was why when Gabriel discovered that he had a cat in his ventilation system, he stormed over and demanded that Crowley remove her before she got any cat hair on his wares.

It wasn’t a very busy morning, just a Tuesday before lunch, and so the cat rescue was the most interesting thing going on in the street at the moment. Bee drifted over from their shop, and one of the bakers came by. Crowley was not terribly pleased to be making a spectacle of himself. 

“What on earth are you doing up there?” he called to the cat. “Come on, Frances, love, it’s just me, you know me. Come down, I’ll take you next door, we’ll have a nice chat over a bit of tuna, you can run about the greenhouse.”

“You sound ridiculous saying sweet things like that,” observed Bee. “Not your nature.”

Crowley shot them a glare. Bee was short, with black hair. They owned the jewelry shop next door which sold expensive, mostly insect-themed jewelry, like dragonflies, butterflies, and the play on their creator’s name: bees. Crowley thought the jewelry was cute enough, and Bee made an okay neighbor. Better than Gabriel on the other side. Gabriel was a tall, handsome asshole who did not possess a sense of humor. He thought he did, though, which is why he took delight in doing things like misnaming Bee’s shop. (If the first two shops in a row were _Heaven_ and _Eden,_ then according to Gabriel, Bee’s place must be _Hell._ Gabriel did not get on with Bee—Crowley couldn’t imagine why—especially since the height of his wit was to keep with both themes, the insects and the religious nonsense, and call Bee _Lord of the Flies.)_

So Crowley wasn’t climbing to ridiculous heights in _Heaven_ on this gray Tuesday morning to relieve Gabriel of his troubles. He just figured Gabriel and Frances probably shouldn’t spend too much time together.

In retrospect, Crowley probably should have known better than to climb a ladder today, because so far it had been the kind of day where everything seemed fated to go wrong. Crowley hadn’t gotten his order of cut flowers in that morning, delayed by all the snow they’d had, and he’d broken a pot almost first thing, and later a vase. A customer had yelled at him for no reason Crowley could divine—apparently yelling at shop owners just made some people feel better.

And of course, Gabriel was yelling at him now, telling him to watch where he put his fingers, which, to be fair, were always at least a little bit dirty (hazards of running a garden shop), but _also_ to be fair, Crowley hadn’t actually planned to touch any of Gabriel’s fancy clothes, until Gabriel had started yelling at him about it. Then it seemed quite the idea. In fact, he’d also love it if Frances managed to get quite a lot of cat hair on everything as well.

When Crowley got to the top of the step ladder, he still couldn’t reach the ceiling, so he had to put one foot on a hastily-cleared hat shelf. It wavered a little, but seemed solid enough, so he rested his weight on it and took his foot off the ladder, stretching up toward Frances. 

The next few seconds were a little confusing. Crowley eventually realized that he was lying on the floor of Gabriel’s shop, and so were a couple of other things: the ladder, a broken shelf, and some clothes. Frances was sitting on his stomach, peering at him.

“Decided to come down, did you?” Crowley asked. Or he meant to. But the words didn’t come out. Crowley realized that Bee was peering down at him, looking very concerned. They were talking on the phone.

“You fell, Crowley,” they said, and Crowley guessed it must have been true. It was, in fact, probably why he didn’t seem able to move. Frances stopped sniffing at him and darted away, and then things got hazy again.

When Crowley next woke up, he was lying on a bed, but the bed was moving. This was fairly confusing, as was all the noise and the lights and the people all talking at once.

“Anthony?” someone asked, but he didn’t recognize the voice. That probably made it okay that he didn’t answer, right?

“Not responsive,” the voice said.

Crowley just stared up at the white ceiling with bright white lights, and feeling more and more like he wanted to get up and run away, except his body wouldn’t _move—_

And then someone was there above him, looking down at him with the most beautiful smile Crowley had ever seen. In fact, Crowley realized, this person might have been the most beautiful _man_ he had ever seen. He had blue eyes and soft white-blond curls and a rounded face that looked perfect holding a smile like that, like it was made for it, the full cheeks giving the smile more room to grow.

“Hello, Anthony,” said the man. “Not feeling your best, I see? We’ll get you fixed up, my dear, don’t worry.”

The man’s faced tilted up and he seemed to be listening to other people talking to him. Crowley couldn’t really hear what they were saying though. At least the bed came to a stop. He tried to focus on the beautiful man. Was he wearing _tartan-patterned_ scrubs?

The man looked back down at Crowley and smiled again. “You’ve had a nasty knock on the head. You know, if you’re going to chase cats, you really ought to learn to land like them, feet first.” Crowley wanted to laugh, but he made no sound.

The blond man seemed very pleased, though. “Oh! You’ve smiled at that. I’m flattered, my jokes are all terrible. But I’m glad to know you’re hearing me. I’ll clear some things up for you, then. You’re in the emergency ward. I’m one of the nurses here, and my name is Aziraphale. It’s a big silly name, I know, don’t worry, we never ask anyone to spell it. I’m going to check you over to see how things are with your head and neck, all right?”

The man’s hands were soft and warm, and wherever they moved over Crowley’s head and face, the pain seemed to dim a little. Crowley only realized at that point that he _was_ in pain, actually, a rather large amount of pain. Aziraphale frowned slightly, just at the same time. “It hurts, I know. Don’t worry, my dear, we’ll get that taken care of as soon as we can. I believe you’ve got a concussion, but it doesn’t seem serious. You’ve got no dashing battle wound, I’m afraid, not even much of a goose egg. I hope you didn’t have your heart set on a romantic scar across your forehead to charm all the, ah—well, whoever it is you’d like to charm, Anthony.” Aziraphale smiled again, with just a hint of color to his cheeks.

_You_ , Crowley wanted to say, and he wanted to say it so badly, to this beautiful man with the soft hands and soft smile and _oh,_ how soft would the skin of his cheek be, if Crowley could touch that with his own fingers?

Fortunately, Crowley didn’t say any of that. Even more fortunately, he did actually say something. “It’s Crowley.”

If the earlier smile on Aziraphale’s face had been beautiful, this one was _glorious._ Aziraphale looked absolutely delighted and Crowley nearly shivered with the knowledge that he was the cause of Aziraphale’s happiness. God, if he could figure out how to reliably do that, he would be a blessed man.

_“There_ you are,” Aziraphale said fondly. “I knew you weren’t really the silent type. So you go by Crowley. That’s good to know. How are you feeling, Crowley?”

“Can’t quite—move.”

A look of concern flashed over Aziraphale’s face, very quickly, and then was gone and the smile returned. “Well, they’ve got you strapped down rather well, my dear. Sometimes people with head injuries can be a little combative, and we’re trying to protect your spine. I wouldn’t worry too much about it just yet. I’m afraid I’ve got more questions for you, though. Do you know what day it is?”

“Tuesday. January—I never know what day it is. Sorry.”

“That’s good enough. And do you remember where I said you were?”

“Hospital.”

“Excellent. And what do you do for a living, Crowley?”

“Garden and flower shop. I own a shop.”

This made Aziraphale look delighted again, and now Crowley had done it twice. “Oh, how wonderful,” the nurse said. “I just love flowers. Suppose I have to, working in a hospital, we see enough of them. But they always brighten everyone’s day. All right, one more, my dear. How many of me do you see?”

Crowley told him the truth. “One, thank God. Don’t think I could handle two of you.”

There was a snort of laughter from someone else close by, but Crowley couldn’t see who it was. He _could_ see Aziraphale, see his mouth drop open as he looked at whoever was laughing, see his skin flush a pretty, rather delicate pink. Aziraphale’s eyes flicked to Crowley, and then away, and then back again, and the blush was only getting worse. _“Well,”_ he said. “I can see _you’re_ nothing but trouble, my heavens. It’s lucky for me you’re headed upstairs and out of my arena.”

It was like being told that it was going to rain when you were about to start out for a day at the beach. Crowley felt cold suddenly at the thought of going somewhere else in this building where he knew no one, where he couldn’t even move, where he couldn’t see Aziraphale. 

He startled when he felt a warm hand on his cheek, and looked up into Aziraphale’s face. The man was smiling very reassuringly now. “You’re going to be all right,” he said softly. “Probably walk out of here in an hour or two. They’ve just got to run an x-ray and I’m sure it will show that everything is just fine.”

Crowley knew that everything was _not_ fine, his head hurt and he couldn’t move, and he didn’t want to be lied to, damn it, but when he looked up into Aziraphale’s face, somehow he believed everything the man said.

oOo

As it turned out, Aziraphale had been right. Not long after he went upstairs, Crowley’s headache dropped to a dull pain. And after the x-ray, when they removed the restraints, Crowley’s limbs worked, his hands, his feet, although a little sluggishly. He was even able to sit up.

After a while, a doctor came into the room where they’d stashed Crowley. She had long dark hair caught up at the base of her head and round glasses. “Evening!” she said. “I’m Dr. Device. Heard you took a knock on your head.”

“Yeah, I fell,” Crowley told her. “There was a cat,” he added, as an explanation.

Dr. Device looked at him closely for a second, and then she pulled a set of x-rays out of a folder and put them up on a light board. A nurse stepped into the room as well, wearing pink scrubs. Aziraphale was the only nurse Crowley had seen wearing tartan. The nurse and doctor looked at the x-rays for a moment before the doctor said, “Oh. So the angel’s in the ER today.”

“Yeah, they won the coin toss this morning,” the nurse told her.

Dr. Device turned back to Crowley. “Well, you don’t have a concussion. We’ll get you some discharge instructions, and you need to be more careful on ladders, all right?”

_“Angel?”_ Crowley asked.

The doctor smirked. “Hospital’s got a bit of a good luck charm, that’s all. Nice to meet you, Mr. Crowley, hope I don’t see you again.” And with that, she was gone.

The nurse was more chatty. “He’s a float nurse, so all the wards fight over him. Ambulance crew too. When he’s around, oh, there’s just something in the air. Surgeries go without complications, infections clear up, broken bones turn out to be sprains. Even family members all get along. At the very _least_ he’s lucky to have on your ward. At the most, well—” She nodded toward the x-rays.

There was no doubt in Crowley’s mind. “You mean Aziraphale.”

The nurse smiled fondly. “That’s our angel.”


	2. Chapter 2

Crowley stood in his shop two days later, staring down an arrangement of blue and white tulips which were clearly mocking him.

“S’not my fault,” Crowley told them. “He even _looked_ like an angel. That blond hair, like a halo. What am I supposed to do about that?”

What Crowley was _not_ supposed to do was to stare at a refrigerator full of flowers and try to find one that matched the exact pink of the blush he’d seen on Aziraphale’s cheeks (Alstroemeria? Nena rose?). So he’d stopped doing that. But he was also not supposed to be looking at the blue tulips right now and thinking they were too dark to match Aziraphale’s eyes and judging them for it.

There were no lasting effects from Crowley’s fall in Gabriel’s shop. He had gone right back to work the next day without so much as a headache. Probably, that was the thing he should have wondered about. It was strange, and sort of spooky, although Crowley did like spooky. In any case, Crowley didn’t actually care nearly as much about the vanishing concussion as he did the man who had supposedly made it disappear. The _angel_ who had made it disappear.

But the thing was, Crowley reminded himself, he _had_ hit his head. And he’d been alone in the hospital and scared and in pain. So probably what he was remembering about a sweet, blushing, compassionate angel was false. The man was most likely average-looking, and compassion was his job, so there you were. There Crowley was. About ten seconds away from berating innocent tulips.

The shop bell rang, meaning someone had come in. Crowley glowered at the flowers a second longer and then went out to the front to see who it was. He was stunned to find himself met by blue eyes a few shades lighter than the tulips, white-blond curls that were _exactly_ like a halo, thank you very much, and oh, God, there was absolutely nothing average-looking about Aziraphale, not his soft pink lips or peach skin or the delicate hands that peeked out from blue-and-cream tartan-patterned scrubs.

“Oh,” the angel said. “Hello. I was hoping I had the right place.”

Crowley made some sort of noise.

“I, ah, thought I’d maybe see how you were doing,” Aziraphale said, sounding a little less sure of himself now.

Crowley concentrated very hard and came up with, “Fine.”

“Ah. Well, that’s good. You have a lovely shop,” Aziraphale said, looking around at the displays with a shy smile. “It smells delightful. Oh, and the winter greenery.” He nodded at the potted evergreens, the holly wreaths that were, in fact, Crowley’s favorite thing in the shop at the moment. He’d made them himself. “Just gorgeous.”

Fortunately, at this point, Crowley’s brain finished its initial freak out and released control back to Crowley. “Thanks,” he said. “Uh, I mean, thanks for—what you did in the hospital.”

“Oh.” For some reason, this made Aziraphale look down at his own feet. “Simply my job, my dear.”

Crowley had to take a moment to explain to himself that Aziraphale probably called everyone _my dear._

Aziraphale looked hesitant for a moment, and then gave a bit of a wiggle, a shake of his shoulders, and got a braver look on his face. “Well, since I’m here, I really ought to buy some flowers, I think. Goodness, I don’t know how I’ll choose, everything is so lovely.”

It was a beautiful thing, standing there and having an angel admire your shop, your handiwork. Crowley was about to fall over with how flattered he was. Naturally, of course, given Crowley’s luck, the next thing that happened about knocked his feet out from under him with quite the opposite feeling.

“I think I ought to get something for Anathema,” Aziraphale said. “Oh, I mean Dr. Device. I think you met her upstairs. Flowers always make her a bit weak in the knees. It’s delightful, really, you know, she plays at being so aloof, but flowers are a weakness.” Aziraphale was still smiling, but the sight of it cut like glass, because Crowley understood now that the look wasn’t really for him. It was the usual flower shop smile that people had—sure, the arrangements were lovely, but what people were really thinking about as they looked around the shop was the reaction they would get when they gave the flowers to someone they loved.

It made sense, Crowley had to admit. No one as beautiful and compassionate and wonderful as Aziraphale could possibly remain unattached. Everyone probably loved him just the same as Crowley did. And Aziraphale worked at a hospital. He’d have his pick there of people who were smarter and more talented than a garden shop owner could ever be.

Crowley wished suddenly that he’d been working in the greenhouse this morning, because then he might still have been wearing his sunglasses. As it was, he had to drop Aziraphale’s gaze and move to the refrigerator before the angel could see whatever wildly inappropriate heartbroken expression was no doubt on his face.

“What kinds of flowers does Dr. Device like?” he asked, opening the door and staring in at all the arrangements, trying to find even one that looked good enough for an angel.

“Roses, I’m afraid,” Aziraphale answered. “Odd to think of Anathema being traditional about anything, but roses are her favorite.”

Crowley busied himself selecting the best six roses he had of six different colors, and then he managed to get them arranged and wrapped up with his head down. When he finally did look up, the nurse had his wallet out.

“Oh, no, it’s on the house,” Crowley said quickly. “I owe you for what you did for me.”

“Oh, my dear, are you sure?” Aziraphale asked. When Crowley nodded, he said, “Well, that’s so very kind of you. Thank you.”

Crowley made some sort of noise about being called _kind_ by an angel, but Aziraphale didn’t seem to notice. The man picked up the flowers in their paper wrapping, but instead of leaving, he just stood there by the counter. He didn’t look at Crowley, though, his eyes once again roaming the shop. They finally lighted on a black pot on Crowley’s work desk. “Oh,” he said. “You’ve got one that didn’t make it, I see.”

Crowley found himself immediately reassuring the man, as if Aziraphale cared about a dying plant. Of course, he probably did. “It’s not as bad as all that,” Crowley said. He picked up the pot and frowned at the withered plant inside of it. “Gabriel had it, shop next door. Doesn’t know the first thing about plant care, so I snagged it. It’s not dead, not quite. Just needs a little discipline.”

For some reason, this made Aziraphale laugh and it was the most _delightful_ sound Crowley had ever heard. The laugh burst into the shop like confetti, swirling the air with colors. “What kind of plant is it?” the angel asked.

“Gardenia.”

“Well, it seems to be in good hands.” Aziraphale’s smile faded just a little. “I, uh—I should get on, I think. It was lovely to see you again, Ant—Crowley. Sorry. Glad you’re feeling better.”

And then Crowley had to watch the angel walk out of his shop with his arms full of roses to give to someone else.

oOo

It was both Crowley’s greatest desire and worst fear that Aziraphale would come back to the shop. So when it happened, Crowley wasn’t sure if he was reaping good karma or bad. The first time, he turned around from fitting carnations into a vase to find an angel peering into the shop refrigerator. At least it was easier to talk to him this time. They chatted while Crowley made Aziraphale a new arrangement, this time for the hospital’s library, which Aziraphale helped to run during his time off. He told Crowley all about the books and magazines, the cart that visited the wards loaning reading materials to bored patients. They discussed the gardenia, which, much to Aziraphale’s delight, had started to perk up. It wasn’t any great miracle really, just that the pH of its soil was correct now, and it wasn’t being overwatered. And then Aziraphale left with another bouquet of roses for Dr. Device.

He came back to the shop a few days later to find a plant to give to his fellow nurses in the ICU, as they’d nearly lost a patient the day before. Aziraphale thought they could use a bit of color as a celebration. Crowley personally had no doubt that Aziraphale had been in the ICU at the time of the miraculous recovery, but he knew better than to mention it, or else he’d no doubt get Aziraphale just looking at his shoes again.

Of course, he managed to screw up anyway. As Crowley handed him the prettiest potted geranium that he could find, he said, “What do you think of this one, angel?”

The name made Aziraphale startle. Crowley was nearly ready to regret being able to speak English, when Aziraphale blushed. And then Crowley was completely occupied with sorting through all the pink flowers in his mental database. _First Light_ rose, that’s what it was, the exact color of Aziraphale’s cheeks. “Sorry,” Crowley said in a rush. “I just meant—”

“My nickname at the hospital, I know. But I’m not really an angel.” Aziraphale’s blue eyes looked into Crowley’s, clearly seeking some kind of understanding.

“Right,” Crowley said. “Sorry. It’s just, everything about you just seems…angelic.” His voice croaked a little. “Sorry, totally stopping, sorry—”

“No!” Aziraphale exclaimed, and it seemed to startle them both. “Um, actually, I don’t mind. From you.”

Crowley wasn’t at all sure how to answer that one. And before he figured it out, Aziraphale had left the shop with the geranium and of course, a bouquet of roses.

The fourth time Aziraphale came by started out fairly well but went downhill from there. At this point, Crowley had to admit that he was at a loss as to why Aziraphale kept visiting. The hospital had its own gift shop, which stocked roses and some potted plants, and while Crowley was very proud of his place, he knew that there were easier and less expensive options.

But here the angel was, looking into the idea of a potted tree or two for the hospital library. Crowley glanced up at some point to realize that Aziraphale was looking at him rather intently. Aziraphale seemed to notice just when Crowley did, and he gave a little gasp. “Oh, I’m sorry, my dear. I was just admiring your eye makeup. You have such lovely hazel eyes, and it—” He shook his head. “Sorry, I’ve upset you.”

“No,” Crowley said. “It’s just—you don’t have to call them hazel, angel, I know they’re yellow.”

Aziraphale tilted his head a little, narrowing his gaze. “I suppose they are.”

Crowley laughed humorlessly. “Yeah, I used to always wear dark glasses, but I’m used to the staring now.”

Aziraphale blinked rapidly, cutting off his own staring once again. “I, uh, I suppose you must be,” he said faintly, with one of those _look-look away-look back_ things that he did when he was especially flustered.

At that point, Crowley’s brain started to do a couple of things, quite without Crowley’s direction. First, it calmly informed him that when Crowley had mentioned staring, he had meant it in the _Y_ _ou’re a freak with yellow eyes, not to mention a man who wears eye makeup_ kind of way, but that when _Aziraphale_ had mentioned staring, he meant it in the _You’re extremely attractive_ sort of way. Crowley listened to that argument and firmly rejected it, because, among other things, angels most definitely did not desire garden shop owners who looked like they thought it was a good idea to wear day-glo contacts beneath flaming red hair.

The second thing Crowley’s brain did was more devastating. It reminded him that at this very moment, there was not, in fact, a great deal of space between between Crowley and this angel, no counter or work desk, just a few evergreen branches. And the problem with _that_ was that it didn’t actually matter so much at that point that Aziraphale, of course, did not desire Crowley, because Crowley sure as hell had enough desire for the both of them.

Hardly an hour had gone by since Crowley’s hospital visit that he hadn’t thought about this, thought about Aziraphale, about what he would feel like to the touch and taste like to the tongue. About what sounds Aziraphale might make if Crowley backed him up to the cold glass door of the refrigerator and then warmed him with his own body. There was, unfortunately, a whole fantasy about seeing Aziraphale come into the shop, locking the door behind him, dragging the man back into the greenhouse among the flowers, and sucking him off until he nearly sobbed.

Crowley would never do such a thing, of course. Aziraphale was taken. And he was _an angel_. You didn’t pleasure angels in dirty greenhouses, no matter how much they liked flowers. 

But, dear God, there really was hardly any space between them, and Aziraphale was blushing, and he was looking at Crowley like he had when Crowley had teased him in the hospital, and Crowley was, amongst other shameful things, a _flirt._

“Bet you get lots of stares yourself, angel,” he murmured.

“Oh, goodness.” _Look-look away-look back._ “No, I never get stares. I was created plain, you know, don’t really have any color to me at all, but you—” Aziraphale looked up at him with a kind of wonder. “You’re just the most striking colors, aren’t you, red hair and golden eyes, like one of your flowers. Dear heavens, that must be the most ridiculous thing anyone’s ever said to you—”

Crowley took the last step toward Aziraphale, so near that their clothes brushed against each other. Aziraphale was breathing quite shallowly, his gaze still fixed on Crowley. His lips parted.

Perhaps, in all fairness, it was rather fitting that Crowley’s attempt to inappropriately make love to an angel was thwarted by both Heaven and Hell. That was to say, Gabriel and Bee, who both chose that moment to come into Crowley’s shop, and they might have been accompanied by lightning and bursts of flame for all the noise they made.

Aziraphale jumped, and Crowley was so busy cursing himself that he nearly missed what Gabriel and Bee were yelling about. Crowley caught the end of it: “...and she can hardly breathe, and it’s all the fault of that stupid cat!”

Aziraphale was much quicker than Crowley to grasp what was going on, and he dashed out of the shop with Gabriel and Bee. A few seconds later, he came back in with a young girl in his arms. Crowley could hear her wheezing. Two people that must have been her parents were right behind them.

Aziraphale looked at Crowley and spoke calmly enough to shock him back to reality. “My dear, if you could please phone an ambulance. Tell them we have a six-year-old girl with an allergic reaction to a cat, and please tell them that I’m here.”

Crowley hastened to comply. By the time the call had been placed, Aziraphale had put the girl down in one of Crowley’s shop chairs and he had her smiling a little, though she was obviously scared. Aziraphale knelt on the floor so that he was at her height. “Don’t be afraid,” he said softly. “We’ll have your pesky throat behaving itself in no time, you have my word, Tracey.” But the girl couldn’t answer him, and her wheezing was only getting louder.

“Oh,” Aziraphale said, still very calmly, “it looks as if you’ve decided to wear a little blue lipstick. It’s hardly your color, darling, let’s see if we can’t get it back to pink, all right?”

He looked back at the girl’s parents. “Does she have an epi-pen?”

The girl’s mother shook her head, almost frantically. Both parents were as pale as paper.

“No matter,” Aziraphale assured them. “They’ll have one on the ambulance.” He turned back to Tracey. “In the meantime, my dear, let’s just breathe together, you and me, all right?” He took her hands in his own. “In and out, darling, there’s a good girl. You know, I was just thinking that I know a very silly story about a cat and and his best friend, who’s an owl. They make a rather unlikely pair. Would you like to hear it?”

The girl nodded and Aziraphale beamed at her. And then, bless his heart, he began to _recite:_

_The Owl and the Pussy-cat went to sea_

_In a beautiful pea-green boat,_

_They took some honey, and plenty of money,_

_Wrapped up in a five-pound note._

As Crowley watched, the girl’s breathing began to even out, and her lips lost their bluish tinge. By the time Aziraphale got to the last lines of the poem, about dancing in the light of the moon, Tracey was breathing easily, and Crowley was absolutely certain that he’d witnessed a miracle. 

The ambulance arrived a moment later, and Tracey seemed loathe to leave without Aziraphale, and lord, didn’t Crowley understand that feeling? So the angel went in the ambulance with the family and Crowley was left with just Gabriel and Bee in his shop.

“Stupid cat,” Gabriel said, pacing. “I’ll be lucky if they don’t sue me for this. She’s not even my cat! What the hell is she always doing in my shop?”

“Causing injuries, apparently,” Bee observed. But their mind was clearly elsewhere. They strolled up to the counter where Crowley was trying to occupy himself by tidying already tidy things. “So,” they said. “Made yourself a friend, did you? Seen him come in quite a few times in the last couple of weeks.”

“He was the nurse in the emergency room when I was hurt,” Crowley growled, and did not feel one twinge of guilt about growling.

“Figured,” Bee said. “He’s always wearing scrubs. That’s why we came to get him when the girl had her reaction.”

“So are you two a thing now?” Gabriel asked.

There were a lot of ways Crowley could answer that. The one that came out was, “He’s taken.”

“Huh,” said Gabriel. “He doesn’t _act_ taken.”

“Doesn’t,” Bee agreed. “The way he was looking at you—”

“Don’t you have shops to run?” Crowley snarled. “He’s dating a woman.”

“If that man is straight I’ll eat one of the hats Gabriel sells,” Bee said.

“Could be bi or pan,” Gabriel remarked, earning curious looks from both Bee and Crowley. “What?” he asked. “I’m an asshole, so I don’t know anything about queer people?”

“You are an asshole,” Bee told him.

“I just said that, but who the hell do you think buys my clothes? Most of my customers are queer.”

“Doesn’t matter, he’s _taken,”_ Crowley repeated. “He’s always in here buying flowers for her.”

“You’re an idiot,” Gabriel informed him, before heading back to his own shop.

Bee frowned at Crowley. “Did you ever consider,” they asked, “that you might have it backwards? You think he comes in to buy flowers _for_ someone. What if he’s actually here to buy flowers _from_ someone?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic uses gardenia with the meaning of “secret love” as well as its association with the spiritual world.
> 
> [The Owl and the Pussycat](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/43188/the-owl-and-the-pussy-cat) by Edward Lear


	3. Chapter 3

Aziraphale didn’t come into the shop for the next three days. Crowley thought about delivering the evergreen Aziraphale had liked to the hospital library, but then he told himself that if Aziraphale wanted the damn thing, he’d come back and get it.

Crowley knew the truth, of course. He’d nearly kissed Aziraphale. It had been inappropriate and creepy as hell, and Aziraphale was probably never going to come back to the shop at all. And that would be right, it would be sensical, because Crowley was an asshole and Aziraphale was an angel who could talk down a little girl’s anaphylactic shock with poetry.

It was snowing. It had been snowing for two days. Crowley normally liked snow. He supposed he ought to still like it, because it had chased most of the customers away, so now he had an excuse to close early and go home where it was warm and he didn’t have to see an angel everywhere he looked. He had just finished cleaning and was ready to snap off the lights when the door bell sounded. Crowley groaned. He should have locked up first—

But he hadn’t, and now there was an angel in his shop once more, covered in a dusting of snow.

“Oh, dear,” said Aziraphale, looking apologetic. “You’re closing. I’m so sorry. I haven’t been able to come back for the evergreen, the hospital’s been rather a zoo with the weather, and I’ve been helping out in the ER. I’ll come back, though—”

“No. Stay,” Crowley said. Begged, honestly.

Aziraphale brightened a little at that, and Crowley was lost to it. All thoughts of a warm flat and too much wine disappeared from his head, chased away by the greater heat of just having Aziraphale so near once more.

Crowley carried the best of the potted evergreens forward. Aziraphale smiled at the plant, and Crowley imagined it growing in the library, in the warmth of that smile.

“I’m sorry,” Crowley said.

Aziraphale looked at him curiously. “For what?”

It seemed easiest to go with: “Everything.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale said, still looking a little confused. “Well—everything is fine, my dear.”

“It’s just—last time you were here—” Crowley’s voice faltered a little.

Aziraphale looked concerned, and still honestly bewildered. “Oh, but you were brilliant, my dear.  _ I’m _ sorry for making your shop the center of a medical crisis, but you were very calm. Sometimes people get very nervous when something like that happens, but you…”

And Crowley was a cursed idiot, because here with the poor angel in his shop once more, as Crowley had known would happen, all he could think of was  _ What if he’s actually here to buy flowers  _ from _ someone?  _ He knew Aziraphale was just being polite, glossing over Crowley’s attempt to kiss him, of course. 

Wasn’t he?

Aziraphale was looking up at Crowley again with his wallet out, ready to pay for the plant, and he had a pretty smile on his face. A smile for Crowley.

Crowley put his hand to Aziraphale’s cheek. It was exactly as soft as he’d imagined. The angel froze beneath Crowley’s touch. Crowley stood still as well, not moving forward, but also not pulling back, because Aziraphale was looking up at him with a full blush on his face, and he was not pulling back either. He wasn’t even doing the  _ look away _ thing, his gaze fixed right on Crowley’s eyes. And then it dropped to Crowley’s mouth.

Crowley waited. He had to. Another moment, enough chance for Aziraphale to break away. He didn’t.

Crowley kissed him. Both of their mouths were slightly parted, but Crowley didn’t push it too far. He just held there with the press of Aziraphale’s cheek against his, the sweetness of the angel’s breath against his lips.

After a couple of seconds of bliss, Crowley’s brain caught up with him, reminding him very forcefully that no matter what the angel had said about everything being  _ fine, _ bouquet after bouquet of roses had left the shop in this man’s arms. Crowley pulled back.

He’d hardly gotten an inch away when he heard Aziraphale’s wallet hit the floor, and then the angel whispered, “Oh, dear god, yes, please,” against Crowley’s mouth and threw his arms right around Crowley’s neck. 

That, obviously, led to more kissing. Crowley pulled Aziraphale fully into his arms, this time sweeping his tongue into the wet heat of the angel’s mouth. Aziraphale tasted like coffee, probably hospital coffee, not the good stuff, but with enough sugar and cream to make it almost a food. Crowley wondered when the angel had eaten last, if he’d had any real food while stuck at the hospital for days.

This was idle wondering because most of Crowley’s brain was caught up processing how amazing it felt to have Aziraphale pressed up against him like this. How soft his lips were, how the curls of his hair caught at Crowley’s fingers. All the sweet little sounds he made as his tongue tangled with Crowley’s, how his arms were wrapped so tightly around Crowley’s neck that Crowley was unable to fully stand up.

Aziraphale was moaning quietly but unashamedly into Crowley’s mouth, and there was other evidence of his willingness: the unmistakable press of a hard cock against Crowley’s thigh, right next to Crowley’s own. Crowley groaned and shifted his body against Aziraphale so that their erections rubbed together, and Aziraphale gave a little cry. Crowley slid his hands down to where he could grasp Aziraphale’s hips and pull them closer. But as he did so, Aziraphale’s left hip buzzed beneath his fingers.

Aziraphale broke the kiss and let his head fall back. “Fuck,” he said, very calmly, and very prettily. He looked into Crowley’s eyes. “Sorry, my dear,” he said, a bit breathlessly. “Pager. Hospital. Storm, probably.”

Crowley let go of Aziraphale and stepped back. He wasn’t sure what to do, other than to say, “I’m sorry.”

Aziraphale blinked at him, suddenly looking confused. “Why?”

“You—” He didn’t want to say it, he didn’t want to break what had just happened like a glass vase, but he had to. “Anathema.”

“What about her?”

Crowley found himself frowning at the angel, wondering which one of them was not making sense. “You aren’t—”

Aziraphale’s eyes drifted shut and he put a hand up to his forehead. “Oh, I really am just terrible at this, aren’t I? I was just telling Anathema that. I was telling her I was completely hopeless when it came to you. She didn’t believe me. She’s going to  _ love _ this.”

“You’re not with Anathema.” It was a desperate half-question that Crowley was too afraid to make a full question.

Clear blue eyes met his with honesty. “Anathema is my dearest friend. We’re not a couple. We did date once, but that was ages ago.”

“But you date men also?”

“Well, I was  _ attempting _ to!” There was a high blush on Aziraphale’s cheeks now. “But, of course, it makes sense, I had sabotaged it from the first. I’m so sorry, my dear, I’m just dreadfully awkward at this sort of thing.” Aziraphale made a face like he was re-evaluating that statement. “Well. Actually, I’m awkward at anything that doesn’t involve the hospital, to be honest. You see, I’m very good with patients, but I have an awful time talking to people when I’m not helping them with something. I don’t know what to say without a mental checklist of questions, and I never know quite what to do with my hands, I need to be holding a plaster at the very least.” He gave a rather hopeless laugh.

Crowley was still stuck on the earlier part of that ramble. “You want to date me?”

Aziraphale frowned at him now. “I may be rubbish at this, my dear, but I should think  _ that _ was rather clear by this point.”

“But you’re an angel,” Crowley said.

Aziraphale closed his eyes. “I’m  _ not.” _

Crowley made a noise of protest. “You can’t fool me, Aziraphale. You  _ look _ like an angel. Right out of a painting, you are. Pink and golden and perfect. You act like one too. Sweet and kind and compassionate, always thinking of everybody else. You  _ are _ an angel if there ever was one, even without what I’ve seen you do. What you did for me.”

Aziraphale was looking at him with wide eyes now.

“You’re  _ perfect,”  _ Crowley repeated. “And I grow plants. My hands are always dirty, and you are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. I can’t touch you.”

Aziraphale’s mouth had fallen open now. “With those hands that bring flowers back from the dead?” he whispered. “You could.”

Crowley looked down at his hands for a second, dirty fingernails and all, and then he reached for Aziraphale. Right as the pager went off again.

Aziraphale groaned. “Oh,  _ fuck _ this storm. Darling, promise me that we can pick this up right from here the next time I’m set free from the hospital.”

Crowley kissed him. Softly, and very briefly. And then he smiled. “Go on then, angel. They need you.”

oOo

Aziraphale left the shop, but of course, he didn’t leave Crowley’s mind, not for a second. Crowley’s mind was actually a rather giddy place at the moment, full of bursts of emotion like  _ disbelief  _ and  _ gratitude  _ and of course  _ lust,  _ and who was Crowley kidding,  _ love.  _ There was color everywhere, fireworks and confetti as Crowley recalled the sounds that the angel had made in his arms, sounds of delight, because Crowley had figured out how to please Aziraphale and the way to do that was to  _ kiss _ him.

Crowley could probably be excused for sitting aimlessly in his shop for a time, just smiling at the wall.

Eventually, he recalled the point at which he’d wondered if Aziraphale had eaten properly, and that thought made him spring into action. He’d visit the cafe and then the bakery at the end of the block, if they were still open in all this snow, and of course, he’d bring flowers, so many flowers, and when he walked into the hospital—

That was where the fantasy broke down a bit. Aziraphale had said that Crowley could touch him even with his hands covered in earth, and Aziraphale had most definitely allowed that scarcely half an hour ago, but that had been here, in Crowley’s shop, where everything was always a little bit messy. Flowers belonged in a hospital, right along with angels. Dirt did not.

So Crowley stayed sitting in his shop for another few minutes, until he realized there was another option. He could simply drop things off at the hospital, a sandwich, pastries, flowers. And then when Aziraphale was done working, Crowley would see him again.

So he spent a few minutes picking out the best of what was in the refrigerator and arranging it in a vase. On his way out, Crowley’s gaze fell on the little black pot still sitting on the work desk. The gardenia had grown green and healthy now, and just the barest promise of a white flower had begun to reveal itself. Crowley wrapped the plant up with the rest of the package.

oOo

The hospital was, in fact, a zoo. The ambulance bay was busy, and the ER was full of people. Crowley was very grateful to be walking into the hospital on his own two feet this time, and at the main entrance. He stopped at the desk and gave the little speech he’d rehearsed in the car. “Hi, I’m a friend of Aziraphale Fell. I know he’s been spending a lot of time here, so I thought I’d bring him some dinner. I’ll just leave it with you, then.”

The receptionist, a rather harried looking woman in a red coat, frowned at Crowley over the large paper bag he’d set on the desk.

“Oh, and there’s some flowers in there,” Crowley added hesitantly. Right. Time to go.

“Wait,” said the woman. “Are you Flower Shop Guy?”

“Uh—” Crowley looked at her in confusion. “I’m  _ a  _ flower shop guy, I guess—”

He was interrupted then by a beautiful sound.  _ “Crowley!”  _ Crowley turned to see Aziraphale standing a few feet away, beaming at him. “Oh, my  _ dear,”  _ the angel said.

The receptionist laughed. “You  _ are _ Flower Shop Guy!”

Crowley was too busy looking at Aziraphale to answer that. The angel was wearing his tartan scrub trousers, but a blue shirt this time, and he was carrying a small bundle in his arms, wrapped in a blanket. As Aziraphale walked closer, Crowley could see that the blue shirt had buttons, and the first few were undone, revealing a small swath of Aziraphale’s pale chest above the bundle he carried. Aziraphale moved the top layer of the blanket aside and Crowley could see an infant pressed up gently against Aziraphale’s chest, skin to skin. 

“This is Michelle,” Aziraphale said quietly. “She’s been staying in our nursery for a couple of weeks after she was born a little too early. I’m afraid she’s being rather naughty at the moment, had a bath and absolutely refuses to get warmed back up again. So I thought we’d go for a bit of a stroll, see if the activity might get that heater going.”

A couple of other people had walked up to them at this point, in various colors of scrubs and a few white coats. “So this is Flower Shop Guy?” one of them asked.

The receptionist had opened the bag and set out the food and flowers. “Brought him dinner,” she said with a grin. “And flowers. Oh, and a plant.”

“Not a bad start,” somebody else said.

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “You’re all being quite ridiculous.” He walked over to see his gifts. “Oh, Crowley, that smells heavenly, the pastry! And the gardenia! Oh, she’s just beautiful. Look at her, come back to life, and you brought her here! What wonderful good luck she’ll be for the hospital. Thank you, my dear.”

“Well, I’ll get going,” Crowley said.

Aziraphale’s blue eyes darted over to him with surprise and disappointment. “Oh. Already?”

Crowley looked down at his hands. He had washed them, of course, had put on his least dirty shoes, but they hardly compared to Aziraphale’s clean blue sneakers. “Well, I don’t want to interrupt—”

“Oh, you’re not interrupting,” someone assured him, sounding very amused. 

“Aziraphale needs to eat,” another voice said.

“In fact,” a third person spoke up, “with the baby in his arms, he might need you to feed him.”

Aziraphale was blushing harder than Crowley had ever seen it.  _ “Really,”  _ he said. “My goodness.”

It was at that point that the ramifications of being Flower Shop Guy finally became clear to Crowley. Aziraphale had told his coworkers about him, including what he did for a living. Aziraphale wasn’t ashamed of dating a man who ran a flower shop.

He made Aziraphale happy, Crowley realized, and not just because he brought him dinner or gave him flowers. Aziraphale had brightened on seeing him every time they’d met.

In fact, Crowley’s brain reminded him, probably inappropriately, Aziraphale even seemed to like the fact that Crowley was a flirt.

Crowley cocked out a hip and leaned against the desk. “Don’t worry, angel,” he said smoothly. “You know I can help you with whatever you need.”

Aziraphale closed his eyes in embarrassment as everyone around them started laughing. “Was that really necessary?” he complained.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Crowley answered. “I was just thinking of Michelle. Every time you blush you get a little bit warmer, so—”

Aziraphale had started to laugh as well at this point, and he came forward enough to lean his head on Crowley’s shoulder, the baby tucked between them. “I knew you were trouble,” he said with a fond sigh.

Crowley slipped an arm around him. “Come on, angel, bring the little one. We’ll get you some dinner.”

Aziraphale lifted the edge of the blanket again. “She does look a little rosier.” He grinned up at Crowley. “Thank you for the assist, my dear.”

Crowley kissed the angel, on the forehead, right in view of everyone in the lobby. “Anytime.”

Work kept Aziraphale busy for most of the rest of the night. The snow stopped eventually, though, and the ambulances fell mostly silent. Crowley spent the time in the waiting area of the lobby, watching the snow, playing games on his phone, feeling surprisingly comfortable just sitting in the hospital.

Eventually, Aziraphale walked in, with his coat thrown over soft athletic trousers and a t-shirt. “You’re still here,” he said in a breathless voice, and Crowley couldn’t help but just smile at him.

“Didn’t want you driving home exhausted. Thought maybe I’d take you back to my place. Just to get some sleep,” he added hastily. “Just so that I can...take care of you. You deserve someone taking care of you.”

Aziraphale stepped right into Crowley’s arms. “That sounds heavenly, darling.”


	4. Chapter 4

Crowley had tucked Aziraphale into bed and the angel had gone to sleep almost instantly. Crowley had taken the couch, and he rose early to see about breakfast. Either the noise or the smell of sausage and eggs woke Aziraphale, and he padded out into the kitchen in his socks. Crowley hadn’t really seen the angel in anything except scrubs, and _oh,_ did he fill out that pair of soft trousers quite deliciously. Crowley turned back to the stove.

Aziraphale was looking out the window of the flat onto snow-covered roofs and cars below them. “You know, working at the hospital, I’ve mostly come to hate the snow. It makes everything so busy. But it really is beautiful, isn’t it? With the sun out this morning, everything is sparkling. Maybe we could go for a walk after breakfast?”

“Of course,” Crowley said, and Aziraphale smiled happily at him. 

“Thank you for yesterday,” the angel said softly. “The flowers, the food, the visit, bringing me here. I’m glad we’ve begun to sort things out.”

Crowley grinned at him. “Me too.” He let his eyes travel down Aziraphale’s body, slowly, and then back up. Aziraphale’s breathing hitched a little. “In fact,” Crowley said, “I was just thinking—”

Crowley was interrupted by a loud _meow_ and there was suddenly an orange cat on his kitchen counter. He just had time to wonder how on earth Frances had gotten to his flat—had she hidden away in his car?—before she took a leap toward the sausages in the pan.

Crowley was able to block the cat from landing on the hot stove, but unfortunately, the pan got knocked over and it fell against Crowley’s hand, just for a second, before he cursed and let it tumble onto the floor. But had been long enough. A bright red burn showed up instantly across Crowley’s palm.

Aziraphale was there immediately, turning off the stove, shooing the cat (who did manage to steal a sausage), picking up the pan by its handle and putting it into the sink. Then he took Crowley’s hand in his own.

“Oh, my dear,” he said, but it threw Crowley a little because Aziraphale was not speaking in that calming voice he usually used when someone needed help. He sounded nervous.

Crowley caught the angel’s hand in his unburned one. “Aziraphale? It’s just a little burn, nothing serious.”

Aziraphale pressed his mouth into a thin line and looked up at Crowley. And then he gave that little shake to his shoulders that meant he had decided to be brave about something. Aziraphale placed his hand over the burn on Crowley’s palm, looking into Crowley’s eyes the whole time. When he pulled his hand back, the burn was gone.

“I’m not an angel,” he said softly.

“But you can work miracles.”

“I can’t. It isn’t me that does them. I’m like...an empty vessel. Something else comes into me and I’m just open to it. I don’t decide who it helps and how much. I don’t even ask it to work. My role is just to care and to watch.” Aziraphale’s voice faltered a little. “I know it’s a lot. It’s strange. I _never_ tell people this. Anathema knows, of course. Some of the others at the hospital understand that it’s real, but they don’t know how it works. I don’t like people thinking that it’s me doing it, but it’s not the kind of thing that we can discuss out in the open.”

“But you told me,” Crowley whispered.

Blue eyes looked up a him with a bit of wonder. “I feel like I can trust you. I don’t mean with the secret, I mean trust you to see me as a whole. The good parts of me and the bad parts, because this is only one part of me. When you said I was an angel because of who I am as a person, and not the miracles—I can’t tell you what it’s like to have you truly understand that those things are separate.”

“But it must take a lot of courage to be open to something like this,” Crowley said. “That’s you, being brave.”

“I’m well rewarded,” Aziraphale countered. “I get to see people made whole again.”

“Like me?”

Aziraphale let out a heavy breath. “Oh, dear, you—” He frowned. “I wasn’t going to tell you this, but if you’re going to know about the miracles, you deserve to know your own story.” He took Crowley’s hands in his own. “You remember what I said about how some people know it’s real? Well, that includes all the ambulance teams. They’ve seen it enough. When they picked you up, you were— _going downhill,”_ he said gently, in a tone that suggested that it was a euphemism. “I was already working in the ER that day, but they called ahead to have me paged to the ambulance bay.” Aziraphale laughed suddenly. “You know, at first sight, I thought you were very handsome. Terribly inappropriate of me, sorry, but—well, you are.”

Crowley couldn’t help pressing his lips to the soft skin of Aziraphale’s cheek, just for a moment. Which made him blush, of course.

“I sat with you for a moment in the ambulance,” Aziraphale told him. “Until your color came back, and then we knew that—we knew that you would live. I wasn’t sure how far the miracle would go for you. It often takes a while for large injuries like that, so we had to wait and see. I’m so glad that it restored you completely.”

Crowley had guessed that he had been paralyzed. Maybe more. Still, to hear it out loud… “So a miracle was worked for me?” he asked.

Aziraphale nodded.

“Thank you. For being there, for being part of it.”

Aziraphale had a soft smile on his face. “I wasn’t sure I’d ever meet another person that I could really trust, besides Anathema. But here you are and—I feel like a miracle was worked for me too.”

Crowley pressed his mouth against Aziraphale’s cheek, and then traced kisses up into his white hair. Aziraphale gave a delightful shiver.

“Let me take care of you,” Crowley whispered. “Please?”

“Oh, yes,” Aziraphale said, before Crowley covered his mouth with his own. They kissed sweetly for a moment before it became more than that, and Aziraphale fisted Crowley’s shirt in his hands, giving a little moan into his mouth. They moved backwards together until Crowley had Aziraphale pressed up very gently against the wall of the living room. Then he was free to taste the angel as deeply as he wanted.

Aziraphale met him with just as much desire, licking his tongue into Crowley’s mouth and pressing his body against him. Aziraphale was hard again, and this time Crowley worked a hand between them to stroke at the angel’s cock beneath his trousers.

Aziraphale gave a little cry and his head fell back against the wall. Crowley traced kisses along his jawline and then over his neck, down to his collarbone, desperate to see that little sliver of chest that he’d seen last night at the top of Aziraphale’s unbuttoned shirt. He grasped at the t-shirt and Aziraphale let him pull it off over his head. It left the angel’s white curls delightfully mussed and Crowley made them worse by running his fingers through Aziraphale’s hair as he kissed him. And then he trailed kisses down over Aziraphale’s chest, pausing to spend a while at each dusky nipple. Aziraphale gasped at the attention and his hips thrust against Crowley’s.

Crowley groaned, and dropped to his knees. Aziraphale looked down at him, delightfully flustered and out of breath. Crowley leaned forward to press kisses against the angel’s soft stomach, all along the waistband of the soft trousers.

“Angel,” he breathed. “Can I? Do you want this?”

“Oh, dear _heavens,_ yes,” Aziraphale said. “I mean, if _you_ want—”

Crowley laughed and then pressed his mouth against Aziraphale’s cock, still through his trousers. Aziraphale gasped and tangled a hand in Crowley’s hair. Crowley tugged the angel’s trousers down and off of his body, revealing his cock, flushed and thick, standing at attention.

“Fuck,” Crowley whispered. “You’re absolutely gorgeous.”

Aziraphale caught his breath as Crowley kissed along his cock and then tongued over the slit, which caused a little precome to dribble out. Crowley grinned and then took the head in his mouth. He worked his way down slowly, licking and caressing, until at last, he took in the whole cock.

Aziraphale was, as always, polite. He didn’t thrust into Crowley’s mouth or pull too hard at his hair. He just leaned back against the wall and made the most gorgeous moaning sounds that Crowley had ever heard. Crowley held Aziraphale’s ass tightly in his hands and sucked the angel’s cock deep into his throat, bobbing his head, swirling his tongue over the underside of the shaft until Aziraphale’s legs started shaking.

“Oh, god,” he groaned. “Oh, Crowley, I’m—if you—oh, fuck! Yes!” And Aziraphale came down Crowley’s throat with a high-pitched cry. After that, he slumped back against the wall. Crowley got to his feet, kissed the angel sweetly, and then took his hand, leading him to bed.

The sheets smelled like Aziraphale already, and when Crowley laid him down on them it was perfect, like Aziraphale belonged there in Crowley’s bed, like this wasn’t their first time, but their thousandth, like they’d known each other and loved each other for ages.

Crowley stripped himself of his own clothes as he climbed into bed. “What do you want, angel?” he whispered against Aziraphale’s cheek, and Aziraphale smiled up at him, eyes heavy with sated lust.

“Oh, anything, darling.”

“Do you want to fuck me?”

A smile. “Oh my, yes, I’d love to. Give me just a minute though, dear, I’m afraid you quite took me out on the first round.”

Crowley grinned and covered Aziraphale’s body with his own, kissing him rather messily, tangling their tongues together. Aziraphale started moaning again, and Crowley could feel his renewed interest rising against his thigh.

After a few minutes, Aziraphale gently pushed Crowley off to the side and started ministering to him, tracing kisses across his throat and then down over his chest. When he got to Crowley’s nipples, he used his teeth. Crowley cried out in surprise, his hips bucking up. Aziraphale pulled off long enough to say, “Mmm, interesting,” and then resumed his attentions. By the time he’d worked his way down to Crowley’s cock, Crowley was achingly hard and dripping.

“Oh, dear, that looks uncomfortable,” Aziraphale said with a frown, and then he took Crowley’s cock into his mouth in one go.

“Oh, fuck,” Crowley gasped. “Angel, please.”

Aziraphale pulled off with a slow release of suction. “Sorry, my dear, but your cock is quite distracting. So long and beautiful. I know you want me to fuck you, but I’m afraid I’m going to have to spend a little time here first.” He bent his head and took Crowley’s cock back into his mouth.

Crowley was not terribly polite. He thrust up into Aziraphale’s mouth involuntarily a couple of times before the angel pushed his hips back down onto the bed. He pulled off a moment later, looking pleased and licking his lips. “Delightful,” he said with a smile. “I’m definitely going to need you to fuck me with that cock later, my dear. If you don’t mind.”

“Could probably work that out,” Crowley managed to say, his hips bucking again at just the thought.

Aziraphale made a pleased noise. “Lovely.”

“Top dresser drawer,” Crowley gasped out, and Aziraphale left the bed briefly to fetch the bottle of lube there. He was gorgeous standing there naked, a rounded stomach, generous thighs, and his cock fully hard again. As Crowley watched, Aziraphale put a little of the oil into his hand and spread it along his cock, closing his eyes with pleasure.

“All right,” Aziraphale said softly, coming back to bed. “Now you, darling.” 

Crowley parted his thighs, bending his legs, and Aziraphale scooted between them, one oiled finger running gently over Crowley’s entrance. Crowley tipped his head back onto the bed and gave himself over to the pleasure of having his lover work him open slowly, gently, never stretching him too far too quickly. Aziraphale didn’t stop until Crowley was easily taking three fingers together. 

“Didn’t want to tease you too much,” Aziraphale said softly, “until we got to this point. But now—” He slid two fingers in and crooked them slightly, rubbing against Crowley’s prostate.

Crowley saw stars. He cried out, bucking his hips. Aziraphale rubbed his fingers inside of him, still gently but relentlessly, until Crowley’s cock shot out a stream of precome and Crowley moaned helplessly.

Aziraphale’s fingers vanished suddenly, and Crowley was going to protest, but then Aziraphale was on top of him, pressing his hips wide open, rubbing his cock against Crowley’s stretched hole.

“Need you,” Aziraphale groaned. “Need you right now.”

“Yes,” Crowley cried. “Please!” And then Aziraphale’s cock was sliding into him, inch by inch. He’d prepared Crowley well and there was nothing but a slick, smooth slide all the way in. 

Aziraphale paused when his hips were flush with Crowley’s ass. “Please,” he said. “Darling, please, can I?”

“Yes,” Crowley moaned, and then he wrapped his legs around Aziraphale’s waist as the angel started to snap his hips against him. Aziraphale was moaning again, fuck, he made the most beautiful sounds in bed.

“Where—” Aziraphale groaned softly, canting his hips until the angle was just right so that his cock rubbed over Crowley’s prostate again.

“Angel!” Crowley cried. And when he could speak again, “Oh, god. Going to come, angel, I’m—”

Aziraphale wrapped his hand around Crowley’s cock, pumping the length of it, and Crowley threw his head back as he came, shouting his release, feeling hot come spatter against his stomach. “Keep going,” he groaned. “Please, angel—”

“Going to come inside you,” Aziraphale panted.

“Yes, please, god—”

Aziraphale fucked Crowley harshly for another minute before his hips stuttered and he came into Crowley’s ass.

When his hips had stilled, Aziraphale pulled out and then collapsed over Crowley, and Crowley wrapped his arms around him, pressing the angel’s head down onto his shoulder.

“Fuck, that was good,” Aziraphale whispered. “Oh, fuck.”

“Not so much trouble now, am I?” Crowley asked.

Aziraphale groaned. “You are nothing _but_ trouble. Now I know what you’re like in bed, how am I supposed to concentrate on anything else?”

Crowley laughed. “Don’t then. Just stay in bed with me forever. Except for walks in the snow.”

Aziraphale curled right up against Crowley’s side. “Do you know, you say the most delightful things.”

“I love you,” Crowley said. And then he pressed his eyes closed. “Sorry, it’s too soon, I know—”

“Oh, I know you do,” Aziraphale said sleepily against Crowley’s chest. “You’ve loved me a while now. I’ve always been pretty good at sensing that sort of thing. Don’t know why.”

“It’s because you’re an angel,” Crowley whispered, feeling it more clearly now with Aziraphale in his arms than he ever had before.

Aziraphale sighed. “Nonsense.” He was quiet a moment and then gasped, “Oh! I love you too. Ought to have said that, sorry. I’m really quite rubbish at this.”

“You’re not,” Crowley told him, pressing a kiss to his white curls. “You’re perfect.”

**Author's Note:**

> What is an angel but an instrument of God, right?
> 
> I absolutely loved working in this AU! If there is interest, I might make it a series and give these two one more adventure, probably with more Anathema. Let me know, folks!
> 
> Thank you for reading! Comments and kudos are so appreciated! And please feel free to check out my other works. I write Good Omens and original fiction.  
>   
> If you liked this Good Omens human AU, here are my others:  
> [The Poet's Eye](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24458608) (poet Aziraphale, firefighter Crowley)  
> [A Greenwood Tree](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26617891) (Ineffable wives Robin Hood AU with Aziraphale as Marian and Crowley as Robin)  
> [The Wrong Side of the Door](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27048544) (a spooky AU with Aziraphale and Crowley as paranormal investigators)  
> [The Pocket Watch](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27645601) (jeweler Aziraphale, jewel thief Crowley)  
> and [Warmth](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28988571) (librarian Aziraphale, criminal Crowley)  
> And on my Tumblr, you can find [giant lists of other writers' completed Good Omens human AUs](https://holycatsandrabbits.tumblr.com/search/Dannye's%20GO%20Human%20AU%20rec%20lists)
> 
> Find me at [DannyeChase.com](http://dannyechase.com/)  
> and on my [Linktree](https://linktr.ee/DannyeChase)  
> 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Angel](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26079799) by [Djapchan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Djapchan/pseuds/Djapchan)




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